Life vs Charlie Part III: Happily Ever After
by FraidyCat
Summary: Don't Let the Title Fool You. I still whump for a living.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Life Vs. Charlie Part III: Happily Ever After**

Author: FraidyCat

Genre: Drama, Angst (Don't Let the Title Fool You; I still whump for a living)

Time line: Any Time is Good For Me

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Drat the luck.

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Chapter 1

Seated at the last stool at the bar, he had a good view of the dark hallway that led to the public phone and the restrooms. It wasn't difficult to imagine what went on down there, and he didn't think much of it was related to the relieving of bladders. No, apparently there was a potent virus loose - at least half of the people who emerged from that black hole seemed to have developed an immediate head cold, if he was to judge by the red noses and watery eyes.

This place was a little more obvious about extra-curricular activities than the other clubs he had begun to visit. He nursed his vodka & tonic, and told himself it didn't matter. He wouldn't come here again. One thing about L.A. - he wasn't likely to run out of bars anytime soon. He only visited once a week, after all. Well, sometimes twice. There had only been one week when he had pulled a triple-header.

Even that week, he had never gotten drunk on one of these middle-of-the-night excursions. He could nurse one drink all night. Sometimes he didn't even bother, and stayed with soda. He didn't come for the alcohol. He came to feel.

He watched the mating ritual, as old as time itself.

He absorbed the music, the solid pulse of the angry, pointless genre he suddenly preferred — eventually so loud in his head he was unsure whether it came from the sound system, or his heart.

Even with the cane visibly hanging off the bar next to him, someone would invariably ask him to dance, but he would just smile sadly and indicate the can with his eyes, and eventually she would leave him alone. Or she wouldn't, and he would end up going back to a dingy room somewhere for pity sex...but that had only happened twice. Last night, when it almost happened a third time, he had caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung on the back of the bedroom door, and once he recognized who he was, he found that he couldn't pretend, anymore. The weight of the last year had crashed on top of him almost as solidly as the sledge hammer had hit his knee, and he hadn't even said good-bye. While she was in the bathroom, he just put his clothes back on and left. He was home, as he always was, in time to clean up for the new day. He had pasted a smile on his face, exchanged small talk at breakfast, and limped out the door as if any of it mattered, anyway.

He was jostled away from his thoughts when people began running out of the corridor to temporary happiness, in droves, pushing at the bodies in front of them and yelling. In the mirror behind the bar, he could see the same thing happening all over, and finally, over the loud music, the word "fire" found its way to his ears, and he knew he had to join the melee. He slipped from the stool and tried to unhook the cane from the bar, but he was immediately swept into the tide.

He would have fallen long before he did, but the bodies pressing him so closely from all directions refused to let him, and he was caught in the undertow of panic. The screaming was louder than the music, now, and he could see the flames.

Suddenly, the woman in front of him went down, and without her back to brace him, he was next, feeling a sharp sting as he hit his check on her stiletto. He tried to curl himself into a protective ball as feet continued to stampede over him, and wondered why he wasn't afraid.

He wondered why all he felt was relief.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Colby was just heading for bed when he got the call. Another club fire. This was the third in as many months. LAPD had called them in after the second, and so far, all the clubs had in common was alcohol. The first had been a gay bar. The second, a strip club. He recognized the name of this one as one of the harder core, guaranteed a score places. Its clientele was mixed - bikers, metrosexuals, young, middle-aged - but they generally had one need in common. Their pockets were too full of money and their nasal passages too free of blow.

He was quickly in his car and on the way to the scene. He figured David would meet him on this one. Megan was on vacation, and Jim Terrace, the fourth team member since Eppes had abandoned them for an office, he was still a rookie. Colby pondered. Perhaps he should call Jim in, give the kid some field experience. He decided to wait and see how things were at the scene. Dispatch said the fire was under control, but not out. The body count stood at seven so far, but that could change - and they probably wouldn't be allowed in the actual bar until tomorrow. He might just bring the kid back with him then.

Colby could see the flames while he was still several blocks out. He had to park almost a block away, leaving room for the fire engines. Jogging up to the site, he saw that David had beat him to the scene and was talking to an LAPD officer. He joined them, nodding to David.

"...witnesses," the officer was saying. "We weren't sure if you would want to talk to them here, or take them all in with you, so we just corralled 'em all across the street in the diner. Got two officers with 'em"

"We'll talk to them here," said David. He looked at the still-burning club. "Can't do much else, right now"

An EMT started to push past them, then noted the uniform and stopped. "Got another witness for you back at the bus. His injuries aren't serious enough for transport. Cleaned up a cut on his cheek, and he may have aggravated a pre-existing injury, but he's going to his own doctor about that."

The officer nodded. "Send him on over to the diner with the others, then."

The EMT shook his head. "Could be a problem with that. Guy uses a cane, for the pre-existing injury. He got swept up in the crowd, and couldn't reach his cane coming out. He's lucky - went down, but someone behind him just scooped him up and pushed him out. Anyway, walking could be a problem."

Colby intervened. "Just point us to the bus. We'll start with him."

"Back behind that engine," said the EMT, pointing. "I've gotta take these supplies to my partner, up on the fireline."

"Go," said David, pulling a notebook from his pocket. "We've got this."

Colby had already started walking for the bus, and David followed. Once Colby rounded the fire engine, he stopped so abruptly that David slammed into his back. He protested. "What the…?"

Colby just stepped to the side a little so that David could see.

Seated in the open door of the ambulance, rubbing his knee and looking completely lost, was Charlie Eppes.

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Don and Cecile sat hand-in-hand on the couch in Charlie's living room, enjoying coffee. Alan had walked his date to her car. Don and Cecile had agreed to another double-date with Alan. This one was someone he had met in the produce aisle of the grocery.

Cecile suddenly giggled. "I think Alan's luck may have improved, somewhat."

Don smiled. "Well, at least there were no surprises. Just a nice dinner. She seems nice enough."

"Killer apple pie that she brought." Cecile spoke a little sadly.

"I'm sure Dad would give you another piece," Don teased.

"I'm sure too," agreed Cecile. "That's why I'm not asking. Since we've had so many meals over here, I'm having difficulty fitting in my uniforms."

Don leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I think your uniforms fit quite nicely," he said into her ear. He pulled back, saw her blush and pushed a little further. "Maybe I could talk you into wearing one tonight. Complete with stethoscope and nurse's cap?"

She blushed more deeply. "When I graduated nursing school 10 years ago, I'm sure they had no idea that there would come a time when caps were only worn for...during...because..." She was relieved when Don's cell sounded, and she could let the sentence die.

He was laughing when he pulled if off his belt and checked caller ID. Colby. In the second it took to bring the phone to his ear, he had time to hope his help was needed at a scene. His new position as Assistant Director had done wonders for his evenings and weekends, but he did miss field work. He sometimes filled in for vacationing agents, or got called in when a case reached a standstill, so he had reason to hope, in that second. Colby was dealing with both, right now.

"Eppes."

"Don, it's me."

"Yeah, Granger, what's up? Need my help at a scene?"

There was a slight hesitation. "Not...not as A.D., Don."

Don frowned in confusion. "Then what?"

"There was another club fire. Remy's. David and I are here."

"Remy's. I know the place. Are you sure this one is arson? From what I hear there's a lot of free-basing goes on in there...could be an accident."

"It's just now out, firefighters are still active. We're gonna have to wait for confirmation on that. We've got a diner full of witnesses to interview, too."

"Well, you're right, that's not usually the sort of thing an A.D. does, but I know you're missing Megan…"

"Don." Colby interrupted him. "It's not that. David and I can handle it, plus Jim is on his way."

"What is it, then?" Don was getting a little impatient.

Colby sighed. "We've got a witness, took his statement already, and he needs a ride home."

Now Don was really confused. "You want the Assitant Director of the LA office of the FBI to start a taxi service?"

His confusion was replaced with dread at Colby's next words."It's Charlie."

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Don stood back and watched him for a minute, before Charlie knew that he was there. He wanted to see how Charlie was before he started pretending to be fine. He also wanted to give his own heart time to stop pounding. Even though Colby had assured him that Charlie was fine, after the year his brother had experienced, Don knew that wasn't true, even before the fire.

Charlie had been helped to a squad car, and he sat in the back seat. The door stood open, and Don could see him almost absently rubbing his knee, and staring at the still smoking ruins of the club.

Don finally approached the car and squatted down in the door. "Sorry it took me so long," he said. "Took me a while to find your crutches in the garage. We'll get you another cane tomorrow."

Charlie dragged his eyes away from the bar and looked at Don. There was a small cut on one cheek, soot on his face and clothes. He wasn't hurt. Don kept telling himself that Charlie wasn't hurt. The squad car was parked under a street light, and Don could see enough in Charlie's eyes to know that what he was telling himself wasn't true. Charlie looked away, suddenly, as if he could read Don's thoughts. "Thank-you," he said, voice raspy from the smoke, and started to get out of the car. Don stopped him.

He leaned the crutches against the trunk. "Can you scoot over?"

Charlie hesitated, then did, a few feet. Don got in beside him and closed the door to cut off some of the noise. "Are you all right?"

Charlie sat in the dark. Don expected his brother to nod, but instead Charlie just looked out the side window and spoke almost dreamily. "I don't think so. Not for a while, now."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Alan was waiting in the driveway. He had wanted to go with Don — he didn't now how his son had talked him out of it — and he knew he was being rude, leaving Cecile alone in the house. As if thinking her name somehow summoned her, he sensed her presence beside him and looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry."

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "For what, Alan?"

He shrugged under her embrace. "I shouldn't have left you alone in there."

"He's all right. Colby wouldn't send him home if he wasn't."

"He aggravated his injury, Don had to take the crutches…" He felt Cecile stiffen beside him. Headlights were headed their way. Alan sagged a little as a car continued past the driveway.

"I made a fresh pot of coffee," Cecile offered, lamely. Alan nodded silently.

Seven more pair of headlights passed the house before one slowed upon approach, and Alan recognized Don's SUV. "Thank God," he breathed, and he moved with Cecile to the sidewalk, out of the way. Before the SUV had come to a complete stop, though, he was headed for the passenger's side. The driver's door opened as he reached the middle of the front of the car, and he heard Don's voice, but couldn't focus on what he was saying. He hurried on, and the passenger door was opening when he got there.

Alan jerked it all the way open, nearly pulling Charlie out with it, as he still had his hand on the interior handle. "Charlie! What happened? Are you sure you're all right?" Charlie seemed to shrink away from him back into the vehicle. Alan was going in after him, if he had to — if he could, but someone had a hand on his shoulder, and was pulling him back. He whipped his head around to bark at whoever it was, and recognized Don.

"Dad. Give him some space."

Alan finally understood the words and looked at Don in confusion. He started to turn back toward the SUV, but Don pulled at him again. "Seriously, Dad. He's all right, physically."

The way Don added that last word — 'physically' — managed to sink into Alan's muddled brain. "Physically?"

Don pulled Alan away from the car. "Please go with Cecile, back into the house. I can get Charlie inside."

Alan still resisted, tried to look over his shoulder again, but Don was still pushing him, and now Cecile was dragging at him. "But…"

"Dad. We'll be right there, okay?"

Reluctantly, Alan finally let himself be led into the house, and he stood in the living room with his hands on his hips, staring at the door. Presently, Charlie entered, putting weight on his injured knee but leaning heavily on his crutches. Cecile left Alan's side — he hadn't even realized she was there — and approached Charlie, the nurse in her taking control. "Sit on the couch," she ordered, "let me…"

Charlie interrupted her. "I'm fine. Everybody. The paramedics said I'm fine, I should just see my orthopedist tomorrow. I want to go to bed. Please."

Cecile met Don's eyes, and forced herself to back away. "Of course…"

Alan started forward then. "Please, Charlie, let me at least look at you. You were in a fire…"

Charlie met his father's eyes, and Alan felt a physical blow, as if he had been slapped. He stopped walking, but he was close enough that Charlie could reach out a hand, and touch his arm. "See? Warm. Alive. It's okay, Dad." Reassuring words, but Charlie's exhausted tone belied them. Alan didn't care what anyone else did or said — he leaned in and embraced Charlie, careful not to let himself put too much desperation into it, careful to pull away before he really wanted to. He forced himself to smile at Charlie, who wouldn't meet his eyes again, but was staring at the floor. "You're right, son, you should get some rest, now."

He backed away, a moment that was going on the list of the 10 hardest things he'd ever done in his life. He looked at Don, who nodded in approval and smiled tightly. "Come on, Charlie," his eldest son said, a hand lightly on his brother's back. "I'll help you upstairs."

Charlie stiffened a little at the touch, and everyone in the room knew he wanted to deny Don any further access. But Charlie was truly exhausted, and in pain, and he wasn't at all sure he could conquer the stairs by himself, so he nodded silently and let Don help.

Once at the top of the stairs, Don started to angle toward Charlie's room, but Charlie aimed for the bathroom. Don, who had been to the side and slightly behind Charlie, moved around in front and looked at him questionably. Charlie immediately dropped his eyes. "I smell like smoke. I want to take a shower. I've got it from here, thanks."

Don crossed his arms. "Charlie, I want you to tell me what you were doing at that club."

Charlie sighed, still regarding his tennis shoes. "I gave my statement to Colby and David."

Don shook his head. "I'm not asking as an FBI agent. I'm asking as your brother."

Charlie finally looked at him, and his gaze was defiant. "What do people usually do at bars, Don? I was having a drink."

Don raised his eyebrows. "On a Thursday night."

Charlie became defensive. "You know I'm not carrying a full load at Cal Sci this semester, I don't have any classes tomorrow. Besides, I knew the house would be…full, tonight."

Don frowned. "Charlie, this is your house. Of course you're always welcome…"

Charlie sneered. "Right. At a double date. You and Cecile, Dad and his broccoli discovery, and me. Pathetic, alone, broken, pissed off and generally just the life of the party."

Don, confronted with Charlie's uncharacteristic and unexpected sarcasm, actually took a step back. "Charlie…I…we never…"

Charlie took another step toward the bathroom. "Just…forget it. I'm not…myself."

That was probably the most honest thing he'd said all night, Don found himself thinking, as he stepped aside to allow Charlie room to pass. "I'm not through with this conversation," he warned his brother's back.

Charlie stopped his progress, but he didn't address what Don had just said. Instead, his voice once again adopted the polite, detached tone that had become all-too-familiar over the last few months. "Thank-you for coming to get me." He started his slow walk again, his shoulders slumped over the crutches, and Don watched him. He found himself wondering, not for the first time, if Charlie would ever be himself again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Without protest, Charlie allowed Alan to drive him to the orthopedist the next morning. After an MRI, Alan was relieved to learn that while Charlie had a significant amount of inflammation and should revert back to crutches for a week, there were no new tears, and no further surgery would be required. He just wished Charlie was a little happier about the news. Not that he was unhappy, either, exactly — it didn't seem to make much impact on him one way or the other.

The fire seemed to have dragged Charlie backwards, to the place where he was just after the kidnapping orchestrated by Merrick, the former Director of the L.A. FBI office. He was very polite, responding to all of Alan's direct questions, but decidedly withdrawn.

Since he had returned to work part-time around four months ago, Charlie had decreased his sessions with the counselor Megan had set him up with, to once a week. On the drive to a medical supply house to pick up a new cane, Alan thought, and then decided to ask. "Charlie…do you think…would you like an extra appointment with Dr. Aaron this week? It's still early — we could call. I'm sure he'd fit you in."

"No, thank…" Alan was ready for that, the automatic denial. What almost made him run a red light was Charlie's sudden reversal. "Yes. That's a good idea, Dad. Let's go home now, okay? I can do all this. I can drive."

Alan hesitated so long that the light turned green and the car behind him honked. They _were_ closer to the house than the medical supply store, but…

"Should you be driving?"

"It's all right. My car's an automatic, you know that. I was driving while I was still using crutches before."

"Toward the end, when your physical therapist said it was all right."

Charlie's voice took on a little edge. "This isn't like then, Dad. You heard the doctor. A few days and I'll be back to the cane. I can drive. Please. I have a lot of errands, today."

Alan sighed, and turned toward the house.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Charlie left again almost as soon as they got home, taking time only for a cup of yogurt, and was gone all afternoon. Alan kept having to stop himself from calling. He was able to stop himself mainly because he didn't know whom he should call. He thought about calling Don, but how much sense did it make to interrupt the Assistant Director of the LA FBI office with something as obscure as "I'm worried about your brother"? He thought about calling Dr. Aaron, but what could he say? "Hi, I was just checking up on my 32-year-old son. Wanted to see if he was lying to me." He considered calling Larry, but that made even less sense. Charlie wasn't supposed to be on campus today, so Larry probably had no idea what had happened last night. There was the repeated urge to call Charlie himself: "Are you driving safely?"; "Have you eaten lunch?"; "Can you tell me who you are and what you've done with my son?"

He finally settled for making meatloaf; the old-fashioned way, with his hands. He squeezed the eggs and bread crumbs into the ground beef as if he were squeezing whatever had a hold on Charlie out of his son. When he was finished with that, and it was baking in the oven, he decided to make mashed potatoes — from actual potatoes. He was taking out his frustrations on the unsuspecting tubers with his potato masher when he heard first one, then another, car in the driveway. He recognized both engines.

He added butter and milk, salt and pepper, and waited for his sons to find him in the kitchen. Don soon held open the kitchen door for his brother, entered behind him and sniffed. "Say it ain't so."

Charlie paused behind Alan. He observed his potato action, and noted a saucepan of gravy on the stovetop. "Meatloaf. Potatoes. Gravy. Everything okay, Dad?"

Alan glanced at him in surprise at the question. He saw Don lifting a beer out of the refrigerator. "Son, get me the bowl of carrots I have back there — I sliced them earlier." He looked at Charlie again. "You must have had a lot of errands."

Charlie held his gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes and moved backwards a little, taking a seat at the table. Don handed his father the bowl of carrots, then reached back into the refrigerator for a bottle of water, which he placed in front of Charlie. Finally, he twisted the top from the beer and took his own seat.

He watched Charlie study the table, then open the water and take a small drink.

"So how's the knee?", he finally asked conversationally.

"It'll be fine…well…back to where it was, in a few days. MRI didn't show any new damage."

"That's good," nodded Don. "This will slow down rehab, again…I'm sure that's…" Charlie was looking at him strangely, and Don lost his train of thought. He took another drink from his beer and tried to refocus. "Everything else okay? Didn't wake up with some injuries we missed, last night?"

Charlie shook his head. He took another sip of water, swallowed, suddenly took a deep breath. "I saw Dr. Aaron today. He let me bring him a sandwich and met with me during his lunch hour."

Carrots successfully dumped into some boiling water, Alan wiped his hands on a towel and turned from the stove. "That's…good?" He was afraid to say the wrong thing.

Charlie was finding the table fascinating, again. "Then…I…went to Cal Sci."

Don had no idea what set him off about this conversation, but something did. He carefully set the bottle of beer on the table. "Thought you didn't have any classes, today."

"I…don't. I needed to speak with Administration. Talk to Larry."

Don counted off 30 seconds in his head before someone spoke, and then it was Charlie, again. "I got the oil changed."

Don's hinky alarm, already sounding, suddenly kicked up a few decibels. He studied Charlie's face. "What are you going to do?", he asked softly.

Alan had been turning back to the stove, but now he joined them at the table, looking at Don.

Charlie's voice was even softer. "Dr. Aaron thinks it's a good idea."

Alan couldn't take his eyes off Don. Charlie was talking, but Alan was watching Don. If Don didn't get upset, if Don seemed all right with whatever Charlie said next, it would be all right.

"I need some time. Alone. I need to leave, for a while."

"Charlie…" Don tried to make his voice reasonable. "Please don't do this. It's less than two months until the end of the semester, and you'll be healthier, then…"

Charlie raised his eyes from the table then, and for an instant when he looked at his brother, Don could see Charlie again. Frightened, hurt, scared to come to the surface, and quickly clouded over by something else. Anger. "Healthier? I'm not waiting for healthier, anymore. My body has never been able to keep up with my mind, and my mind is trying to…trying to…" His voice became a little pleading. "I have to find out…find out where I went. I feel less and less able to even recognize…God. Please. Just let me go."

Don reached a hand toward his brother, almost afraid to touch him, but did, briefly, fingers-to-fingers. "How long? Where?"

Charlie stared at their fingers. He almost whispered. "I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here's your offering for the day. Mixing work and birthday today, so make this last a while! Thanks for reading.**

**Chapter 5**

Charlie agreed to wait until morning to leave, and Don was back early on Saturday to help him load up his car. Lifting Charlie's duffle into the trunk, he spied a new cane, there, and for some reason almost felt as if it were hitting him. Logically, he knew that Charlie would need that within the week, and that a week wasn't that long, but still...Charlie would leave with crutches, and not come back until he could walk with the cane again. It made it seem more permanent, somehow.

"I'll go get your laptop," he said. "Where is it?"

Charlie had already placed his crutches in the back seat of the car, and now he leaned against the driver's door. "I'm not taking it," he answered.

Don looked at him in surprise. "Really?"

"Really," Charlie confirmed. "No cell, either."

Now, that was just too much. Don started to speak firmly. "Charlie…"

"I'll call," Charlie interrupted. "Every Sunday evening, while you're here having dinner with Dad anyway. So I can talk to you both." He could tell Don wasn't really happy with that arrangement. "I promise," he added.

Don sighed. "So is there more in the house?"

Charlie shook his head at the same time that Alan appeared, dragging a cooler down the kitchen steps behind him. "Oh, shit..." Charlie intoned, and Don quickly moved to his father and picked up the cooler. He added it to Charlie's trunk, then slammed the lid.

"There's plenty of ice in there, so it should be fine for at least a few days," Alan was saying to his youngest. "A few yogurts, and protein bars, a couple of sandwiches from leftover meatloaf...you know you need to eat frequently. Oh, and a 6-pack of water."

Charlie decided not to mention that he'd never be able to get the cooler out of the trunk again. Even the cane required one hand. Instead he tried to smile - he hoped he was succeeding; he could barely remember what it felt like, anymore. "Thanks, Dad. Really." He looked from the sad face of his father to the concerned face of his brother, and didn't understand the anger he could feel building again. He had to get out of here fast. "Guys. Lighten up. It's a vacation."

Alan flashed a brief smile, then. "You'll be careful. Especially the first few days, with your leg."

Charlie opened the driver's door. "I will."

The door slammed shut again when Don pushed into it to wrap Charlie in an embrace. Charlie tried to keep himself from screaming. He had to leave. He had to leave. At least Don kept it short and sweet, and then his father did the same. When he let go of Charlie he opened the door and held it open for him.

Charlie lowered himself carefully inside. Don took the door from his father and closed it, then leaned into the open window. "Every Sunday night, Chuck. And whenever you want. You can call me anytime, okay?"

Charlie nodded, not looking at him, and started the engine.

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Despite his assurances to Alan that he could drive, the hours he had spent in the car yesterday had cost Charlie dearly. His knee was still so swollen after a night's rest that he was afraid at first he wouldn't be able to get his jeans on; then, once he had, that either his Dad or Don would notice and physically restrain him from leaving.

Now, even as the house still faded in his rear-view mirror, he knew he would be heeding his father's caution about not going too far, at first. Besides his knee, he was just...tired. He hadn't slept well the night of the fire, or last night. Thinking about it, he realized he hadn't slept well for two months, which was when the doctor had stopped his sleeping pill prescription. Charlie had asked him to - returning to work even part-time was proving too difficult. He couldn't keep his mind on his lectures, he couldn't seem to care when a student came to him during office hours with a problem. He had been hoping that the pills were responsible, hoping that if he stopped taking them, it would get easier.

Instead, within a month, tired of lying awake all night and too disinterested to get up and actually work on something, he had started his tour of L.A. bars. Look where that had led. He should have kept taking the damn pills.

He gave up less than 75 miles later. He was still on the outskirts of L.A. He spotted a small, roadside motel that dated from the 70s sprawled around a convenience store, and he stopped. He grew increasingly sleepy as he paid in advance for two nights in a kitchenette unit, and talked the manager into taking the cooler and his duffle inside. It was almost more than he could do, transferring the food into the refrigerator.

It was more than he could do to take his clothes off.

Less than three hours after Charlie had left the house, he was sprawled, fully clothed and in a dead sleep, across the sagging double bed.****

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When he awoke, Charlie was disoriented and sweaty, the room hot and stuffy. He could reach the window air conditioning unit from the bed, and he turned it on full blast, then lay and stared at the clock radio on the nightstand. He was certain, from the heaviness of his limbs and the cotton in his head, that he had been asleep for more than four hours. The other option, however, was 28, and that couldn't be right either. He slithered off the bed like a drunken, boneless person, lurched into the bathroom and swayed over the toilet. Finished, he washed his hands, splashed cold water on his face and stumbled to the kitchenette, where he ate both of Alan's meatloaf sandwiches standing over the tiny refrigerator.

Draining a bottle of water, it occurred to him that he was using neither crutches nor a cane. As if the realization itself was some sort of curse, he felt his knee buckle, and he barely made it the few feet back to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress and looked around the room for the crutches. He leaned over and felt under the edge of the bed, and found one. Sitting back up, he finally spied the other, leaning against the wall in a corner of the kitchenette. How did it get there? The logical explanation was a resurrection of the somnambulism that had plagued him in early childhood, and again in late adolescence. He sighed. Great. Sleep-crutching. Just what he needed.

Charlie stood again, gathered his crutches and left the room, walking slowly to the motel manager's office. Once there, he found out for sure that it was Sunday and paid for another night's lodging. He could imagine how he appeared - unsure of the day, hair wild around his head, two days' growth of beard, clothes looking like he'd slept in them - but as long as his credit card cleared, it didn't seem to phase the manager any.

He left the office and made his way back to his room, noticing for the first time the "Do No Disturb" door hanger. He had no memory of putting that out, but it was fine with him. He was exhausted again, already.

He settled at the head of the bed, near the phone. It was early - not yet 5 - but he called Don's cell anyway.****

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Don recognized the ring tone and answered his cell immediately. "Charlie! How's it going?"

His brother sounded...more than tired. Weary. "Okay."

"Where are you? How far did you get?"

"Not far. Got tired and stopped."

"That's good...smart. Not like you're on a deadline or anything, right?"

Charlie ignored that. "Are you at Dad's yet?"

"Yeah, here he is - about ready to rip the cell out of my hand. Take it easy, Bro. And Charlie - call me anytime, okay?"

When Charlie didn't respond, he handed the phone to Alan. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes...I just promised to call."

Alan sighed in relief. "Good, good...thank-you, Charlie."

"Ate your sandwiches, Dad. They were..." Charlie was interrupted by a yawn. "...sorry. Great."

Alan smiled. "Sounds like you should turn in early."

"Plan to."

"Don's right, son, you can call anytime. Be safe. We love you."****

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Charlie managed a small "You, too," before he hung up the phone. He had been exhausted before the phone call, and now he was as tired as he had been before his 28-hour nap.

He didn't want to hear about love.

Love cost too much.

His father's love was like the tentacles of an octopus, pulling at him, no matter where he was. His brother's love was solid, but intense, almost frightening. Charlie's love for them, that was the worst part. It was more than he could bear. To know he was responsible for the disappointment and worry etched on Alan's face; to know Don's escape from death, when he was blown off that roof, was an anomaly not likely to be repeated…to know that the next time, he would lose him...

Love had fooled him. Trusting that love would survive if it was meant to, he had let Amita go.

He slid down onto the bed, curling up as tightly as his knee would allow, and for the second time in as many days, fell asleep with his clothes on.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Views expressed by Stan the Arson Man are not necessarily those of the author. Welcome to fiction.**

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**Chapter 6**

Don liked to visit the bullpen at least once a day, if he could. He wanted all the agents to feel his active presence in their cases, and the day-to-day activities of their lives. Late on Tuesday morning, he stepped off the elevator in time to see Colby and David escorting someone toward interrogation.

He saw Megan, back from vacation, standing over her desk and searching through files. Careful, as always, not to allow any favortism to show toward his former team, he approached her. "Agent Reeves, welcome back. Is there a break in the arson case?"

She looked up and smiled. "Assistant Director. Good to see you. Yes — Colby discovered that the three bars, while serving diverse clientele, did indeed have alcohol in common. They all used the same distributor, and the same driver made deliveries to all three on the days of the fires. He and David are taking him into the box now. I was just going to observe."

Don nodded. "Sounds like a good show," he said, and fell in step behind her when she headed for interrogation.

In the anteroom, they stood with David to watch the video of Colby confronting the driver. So far, the suspect sat alone at the table. They knew that Colby was hovering at the door, giving the guy a few minutes to get nervous. Not too long — they didn't want him asking for a lawyer. Colby's perfect sense of timing in these situations was part of why he was so effective in the box.

Megan spoke lowly. "I saw that Charlie was at the last club. In his statement he said he doesn't even know how he got out. He fell, and someone picked him up again…" She shivered, a little. "That must have been incredibly frightening. How is he?"

Don shrugged. "He's…taking a break. I think…I think the fire pushed him over the edge." He looked at his friends and spoke sadly. "I don't know. I thought he was…progressing. I've been so preoccupied, with my new position, and Cecile…I think I missed something. I'm afraid he's been floundering for a while."

Megan looked sadly at the floor. "He has to want help, Don. He has a good support system in his family and friends— but only if he chooses to use it."

On the monitor they saw the door open, saw Colby stride purposefully into the box and drop some folders on the table. The suspect looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Don smiled. "Well…at least I know one guy who wants some help right now."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

"Convince me."

Colby was sitting backwards on a chair, arms propped on the backrest, facing the suspect on the other side of the table. "You're the only link between these three clubs. We have credit card receipts for gasoline and shop rags. You have access to empty liquor bottles — arson has confirmed that Molotov cocktails were planted in several locations in each club." He leaned the chair up on its back legs, toward the table. "I gotta tell ya, Stan. I'm liking you for this."

The balding, middle-aged man blinked several times behind his glasses — and then broke Colby's heart when he took all the fun out of the interrogation. "Of course I did it," he said.

Colby's chair crashed back down to the floor. "What?"

The little man leaned forward in his own chair. His hands were on the table, and he formed one into a fist, banging it into the wood periodically to drive home a point. "It was necessary. We must cleanse our own land, we must extinguish the fires of heathenism before we are all cast into the eternal fire of damnation."

Colby just stared at him.

"I knew you would find me soon, I knew there was only so much that I could do, so I tried to choose carefully. Targeting the first club was easy. The homosexual lifestyle is an abomination. Likewise the wanton and promiscuis heterosexual acts promoted by that…that strip club. Remy's? You'd have to be blind and deaf not to be aware of what goes on in there. Drugs. Sex and drugs." Stan suddenly pushed back his chair and leaped to his feet. "A BANE TO SOCIETY! THE LOOSE MORALS OF THIS CADRE OF PERVERSION WILL CURSE US ALL!"

Colby came to his feet as agents watching the video burst through the door to restrain the suspect. "Take him down to holding and book him," he ordered unhappily.

Some people were just no fun at all.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It was Thursday afternoon before Charlie finally left the small motel. If he hadn't finally finished the last of the food Alan had sent, he might have stayed even longer. As it was, it took him most of the morning to shower, shave, dig out some new clothes, check out and find the will to drive.

He couldn't believe how tired he remained. His first 28-hour nap had been followed by another. Tuesday's and Wednesday's naps had been less overwhelming, but incredibly frequent. He would wake up, turn on the television, eat some yogurt or a protein bar standing in the kitchenette, and within minutes, find himself sprawled on the bed again. Wednesday afternoon he had managed to force himself out of the room long enough to go to the motel's small outdoor picnic area. He had picked a chaise lounge away from the other guests — and fallen asleep.

Early in their counseling relationship, Dr. Aaron had offered him an antidepressant, which Charlie had turned down. He hadn't wanted to "give in" — but in the few moments he was awake, now, he thought that may have been a mistake. He knew that a change in sleep patterns was a sign of depression. Going from no sleep at all to doing nothing but sleeping — that probably qualified. Abandoning his family, his job — those weren't good signs, either.

He thought about it most of Wednesday night — when he wasn't sleeping — and before he got ready to leave on Thursday, he phoned Dr. Aaron, who was more than happy to phone a prescription in for him. Charlie would have to backtrack a little, but not far. He had seen a large franchised supermarket, complete with pharmacy, not long before he had decided to stop at the motel.

Just before he left the room for the last time, Charlie sat on the bed up by the phone again, and unsure as to why he was doing it, called Don. He almost hung up — he really didn't have anything to say — when he was put through to voice mail. Relieved, he spoke to no-one. "Just wanted to say 'Hi'", he said. "Tell Dad, Cecile. Talk to you Sunday."

Charlie hung up, and headed for someplace else.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Charlie and his Prozac ended up on Highway 101, and he traveled the coastline toward Oregon. Some days he drove less than 60 miles before he stopped again for the night at some small roadside motel that looked as dilapidated as he felt. He spent hours at scenic viewpoints, wide pull-outs off the road. If the path to the beach was not too steep or too long, he would carefully pick his way down. He would find large logs of driftwood to sit on or lean against, and watch the ocean.

One day, during the second week, he couldn't stop driving. Even though his knee ached and he was hungry, he drove for nine hours, and was well into Oregon when he finally stopped. It took him five minutes to get out of the car and check into another small motel.

His sleep was still off-kilter. He would go days subsisting only on stolen naps taken in the car at scenic viewpoints, watching home shopping channels on the television all night. Then he would crash again, for 12 hours or more. Once, in Bandon, Oregon, he awoke at 3 a.m. to find himself standing on the covered sidewalk in front of his room, wearing only his boxers and a t-shirt, and extremely grateful that he hadn't locked the door when he left. He hurried inside and leaned against the door, heart pounding, wondering how long he'd been wandering around out there and what had finally awakened him.

The next day, he sat on the beach behind the motel and for the first time, wished he had his laptop. He had been gone almost three weeks.

While he was trying to decide what that meant, he watched a woman coming toward him, from the ocean's edge. She limped on the wet sand, struggled mightily when the sand became dry and sank beneath her feet. He began to sit up straighter as she appeared to zero in on him. He had settled too close to the path back to the motel…but the large driftwood log had been convenient, and he was tired after his busy night.

She reached him, smiled, and sat on the other end of the log. She was barefoot, carrying a pair of flip flops, which she dropped onto the sand below. She brushed her hands off on bare legs. "That's not as easy as it looks," she finally said. "I've had a bad year." She lifted her left foot a little. "Broke my ankle on Christmas. Slipped on the ice."

He didn't know what took possession of him at that moment, but Charlie hadn't had a real conversation with anyone, beyond ordering breakfast or booking a room, for weeks. He indicated his cane, leaning against the log. "Sledge hammer to knee," he said.

She looked slightly taken aback, and he thought she would ask why he took a sledge hammer to his knee, but instead she pointed to her mouth. "Root canal in January," she said. "It got infected."

Charlie grinned a little. Did she really think she could win this little competition? He picked a malady. "Perforated ulcer," he countered. "Emergency surgery."

She crossed her arms across her chest and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, thinking. They popped back open and she smiled broadly. "March. Pneumonia." She called him, and raised. "Car accident in April. Concussion."

Charlie was glad it was only the third week of May. Otherwise, she might win. He rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt to show her the scar from the burned bullet graze. He needed a double-header, here. "Shot. Then burned." Just in case she thought they were even, he added the piéce de resistance. "Two skin grafts."

She peered carefully at his arm, then deflated and looked out toward the ocean. "You win. You have officially had a worse year than I have."

Charlie laughed. "Cheer up. It's only May."

She looked back at him, and returned the laugh. It was a low, throaty, almost gutteral sound, and it reminded Charlie of Amita. Just that quickly, the shades were drawn over the pinprick of light he had allowed himself to feel. He was immediately frustrated. In the hospital, his father had promised him that he wouldn't feel bad forever. He had wanted to believe him then, and he wanted to believe him now, but Charlie felt as if it had already been forever.

Charlie reached for his cane and pushed himself up off the log. With a face suddenly as closed as his heart, he looked briefly at her. "I hope you enjoy your stay. It was nice meeting you." He said it quickly, turning, and he barely had time to register the confusion and disappointment on her face before he had started up the path to the motel.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Cecile looked at Don as he eased the SUV into a parking space at the clubhouse. "This was a good idea. We haven't been to the driving range since Andrew still lived here."

Don shut off the engine and smiled at her, then reached into the back seat and came back with one long-stemmed red rose, which he offered her. "Happy anniversary," he said.

Cecile automatically accepted the rose and stuttered. "A…ann…anniversary?"

He was still grinning. "One year ago tonight. You came to the driving range with Andrew, and I gave you a ride home. We stopped for pie on the way. That counts as our first date."

Cecile was humiliated. She was the woman. She was supposed to be the one who had a handle on things like this. "Oh, Don…" She looked at him in obvious distress. "I'm so sorry. I can't believe I didn't realize…"

He leaned over and kissed her over the rose until she felt her toes curl. When he finally pulled away, she just stared at him, breathless.

He grinned, again. "It's okay. This way I can do something cheap, like take you to a driving range for our anniversary instead of a romantic dinner somewhere — and you're still happy."

She slapped him with the rose — careful not to hit him with any thorns — and his smile became tender. "I know. You'd be happy, anyway. Right?"

This time she placed the rose carefully on the seat beside her before going in for the kiss herself, and soon the two of them, both thirty-something, were necking like teenagers. She finally forced herself away. "Listen…" she rearranged her blouse a little, and reached a hand to her hair. She took a breath. "We either have to get out of this vehicle now — or move to the back seat."

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

She was still embarrassed that she hadn't made this connection herself and done something special for Don, and Cecile promised herself that she would make it up to him. She was glad he hadn't gone for the big, fancy dinner somewhere. Bringing her back here, to the place they had first acknowledged their mutual attraction, was perfect.

Reaching blindly behind her into the bucket for another ball, she smiled to herself as she remembered that night a year ago. Andrew, Charlie and Alan had all been here, but she and Don had virtually ignored them. The driving range had been busy that night, and there weren't enough open spaces for them all. Don had noticed that first, and invited her to share a slot. Then he had picked the one opening that would separate them by the furtherest distance from the other three.

Her smile slipped as she thought of both of their brothers. She always worried about Andrew, with his job as a police officer, and she wished again that he hadn't moved to San Diego. L.A. was certainly not a safer place to be a cop, but she wanted to be able to get to him quickly, if something happened. And Charlie. He'd been gone for almost four weeks, and had been increasingly distant for a few months before that. She missed him, and knew it was worse for Don, and Alan.

"Ouch!" She had caught a finger on something in the bucket. Or maybe a bee had stung her. She turned around, brought her hand up and saw that her finger was fine — she had hit something sharp, but had not cut herself. She leaned over to look in the bucket of balls for the offending item. Her eye was immediately drawn to a glint, and she cautiously moved a ball to get a better look.

"Oh. Oh my…," she breathed, as recognition hit her, and she looked in shock at Don, who had been standing a few feet away watching her. He didn't speak. He didn't smile. In fact, he looked scared to death.

Her hand shook as she drew the offending item out of the bucket. She slowly straightened, and dropped it in the palm of her other hand. While she stared at it, in shock, Don moved out of her range of sight. When she realized that, she tore her attention away from her hand to look for him again.

He was still where he had been, but he had dropped to his knees, in the middle of the driving range. His voice shook when he said it. "Will you marry me?"

Cecile looked again at the ring in her hand, and felt her own knees buckle.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Cecile sat on the couch, holding a bag of frozen peas to her temple. Alan sat on her left, offering the occasional reassuring pat to her knee. Don alternated between pacing the living room and hovering directly over her head. Right now, he was pacing. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.

Cecile lowered the peas. "Honey, calm down. It's only a bump."

He stopped pacing and looked at her worriedly. "You should go to the hospital. You hit the edge of that bucket pretty hard."

She laughed. "Not that hard. The bucket didn't even tip over, and the skin isn't broken. At most, I'll bruise. Trust me, I'm a nurse."

Don started pacing again. "I should have been ready, I shouldn't have gone to that corny 'on-your-knees' position...Dad, what do you think? Should she go to the hospital?"

Cecile spoke before Alan did. "Don. Don. Please stop walking and look at me."

He did, but now his concern was turned up a notch higher. "Why? Baby? Are you dizzy?"

Cecile started to roll her eyes, but caught herself. He really would think she had a head injury then. "No, No. I'm telling you, it's fine. It's perfect."

Don looked like he was thinking about calming down, but confused. "Perfect?"

She smiled. "This is the story I will be telling our children, and grandchildren. How you proposed, on your knees, and how I passed out and fell into a bucket of golf balls... It would be almost too romantic, without that touch of humor at the end. This way, it's perfect."

Don smiled a little, finally. Cecile relaxed and felt Alan holding her hand - the left one. She looked over to see him studying the ring. When she woke up after she passed out at the driving range, she had made Don put the ring on her finger before she would let him look at her head and help her up. "I think it's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," she said shyly.

Alan answered quietly. "I always did, too."

Cecile looked back at Don, who was watching his father. "It was my mother's", he said simply.

Cecile involuntarily gasped a little, and looked back at the man beside her on the couch. "Oh, Alan…"

He smiled into her eyes. "She would love you, Cecile. As I do. This ring belongs on your finger, not stuck away in a safety deposit box somewhere. It meant so much to me when Donnie asked if he could give it to you..." He frowned, suddenly. "But of course you should have one you really like. You'll be wearing it a long time. Don't hesitate to say if you'd like something else."

Cecile looked from one man to the other, and imagined the woman who had been so important to them. She remembered the family photos she had seen, and heard again the tone of Alan's voice whenever he spoke of Margaret... They wanted her to wear Margaret's ring. They loved her that much.

She reached up to touch Alan's cheek softly. "I keep telling you guys. Everything is perfect."

**0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0**

Two days after Memorial Day, Charlie woke up in Florence, Oregon with a headache that convinced him to reconsider his plans to continue up the coast. He had splurged for a nice motel in Florence, and he sat on the balcony of his room overlooking the beach, waiting for the energy to actually walk across it and approach the ocean.

At noon, he managed to get himself as far as the motel's in-house restaurant, but the instant he entered and was assailed by the smell of food, he found that he had to veer quickly to the restroom, where he lost the lunch he hadn't had, yet. He decided food was not a good idea, and headed for the beach.

The motel featured a courtyard facing the ocean, and Charlie settled on a bench, queasy again. The beach was full of activity since the first official holiday of the season, and soon the shouts of children melded into a cacophony of dizzying proportion, zeroing in on Charlie's headache, and he gave up and headed for his room again.

After he had gotten there, and fallen on the bed, he wished that more Oregon beach motels had air conditioning. He was much too warm to be comfortable. He remembered vaguely being told at check-in that he could get a fan from the front desk, but he was too tired even to roll over and call to request one.

He had almost fallen asleep anyway when a sudden urgency provided a spurt of energy, and Charlie stumbled into the bathroom to throw up again. Without a knee cap, it was difficult to kneel on the floor, so he sat on the edge of the bathtub, leaning over the toilet, and heaved until there was nothing left in his stomach. He was certain he had seen part of those meatloaf sandwiches from a month ago. Then, he heaved some more, ribs soon aching from the effort. During a break, still feeling as if it might not be over, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. When he began to shiver, he finally risked standing long enough to rinse his mouth out, then carefully made his way back to the bed, where he wished there were more blankets. He was freezing.

He shivered some more and huddled in a ball under what blankets there were, and waited for the room to stop spinning.

** 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 **

Megan admired Cecile's finger. "It's beautiful," she agreed. "Have you set a date?"

Cecile shook her head, and stirred her strawberry milkshake absently. She was on a break, and strawberry milkshakes were actually very good in the hospital cafeteria. Megan had been at Huntington interviewing a victim, and she had looked up Cecile to see the ring, having heard from Don of the engagement. Cecile was more than happy to give up the chance at a decent dinner offsite to pass some time with Megan. The two had become fast friends since Megan had helped Don arrange his "dancing date" last fall, when he had still been in traction with a broken tibia. "We're waiting for Charlie to come home," Cecile answered. "Don wants to be able to read his face while he tells him."

"How's Charlie doing? He's been gone over a month, now."

Cecile took a drink, then sighed. "I know. He still only calls them once a week, but Don says he talks a little longer each time. He was in Coos Bay, Oregon last week."

"Alan must be missing him."

Cecile frowned. "He's such a sweet man. He said the loveliest things to me when Don proposed and I passed out in the golf balls." Megan started to laugh, then stopped as Cecile went on. "I love Charlie. I'm sorry he's in such a difficult place. I want to help him. But sometimes...Don and I try to have dinner with Alan at least once a week, and when I see how sad he is, I try not to, but I get a little angry at Charlie."

"I'm sure it's very difficult for everyone," Megan murmured. She waited a moment, chewing on her sandwich, then smiled mischievously. "I never would have guessed Don could be so romantic, until he got me involved in that dance thing last year."

Cecile blushed a little. "You know what he said?" Megan shook her head. "He said he was going to ask me to move in with him, but it just felt wrong, like I deserved more than that. 'I don't want to ask you to spend some time with me', he said, 'I want to ask you to spend forever with me."

Megan smiled. "Have you told Andrew?"

Cecile shook her head. "He's coming up over the 4th of July - finally gets a holiday off - and we might have a date, by then. Plus, I'm kind-of like Don, that way. I want to see my brother's face when I tell him."

** 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 0 **

For three more days, Charlie alternated between hot and cold, never comfortable. His body ached at first when he got out of bed to lurch into the bathroom, then it ached when he just lay there and did nothing. In his fever dreams, he felt his father's cool hand on his forehead, and when he awoke, he wished his Dad was really there, urging him to eat chicken soup and green gelatin.

During the worst of it, he promised that if he lived, he would go home. As he started to feel...if not exactly better, less bad..., though, he began to fight the urge. He wouldn't run home just because he had been sick, and wanted someone to take care of him.

He was proud of himself on Monday when he managed to stay upright long enough to shower, but tired enough for bed again immediately afterwards. His eyes settled on the clock radio, and he realized with a start that he had not called Don the night before. It was the middle of the day, but he didn't want to risk waiting for the evening. He might fall asleep, again.

Don answered his cell on the third ring. "Eppes."

"Hi."

He could hear a mix of relief and anger in Don's voice. "Charlie! You missed your call last night."

A wave of clarity and panic suddenly overcame Charlie, and he realized that not bringing his cell phone had been a mistake. How could he have been so stupid? Don and his Dad couldn't reach him, if something happened. How could it have taken him this long to figure that out? "Is Dad all right?", he asked, frantically.

His brother sounded exasperated. "Yes. He's worried. You were supposed to call."

The panic wouldn't leave him. He knew that Don would never really be safe, as long as he worked for the FBI. Even as Assistant Director, he still got into the field now and then. "You're all right? Have you been in the field? Did something happen?"

Don could tell Charlie was losing it, and it calmed his own anger, a little. "I'm fine, Charlie. We're fine. We're just worried about you. Why did you miss your call?"

Charlie was still too upset to think before he talked. "I've been a little sick," he admitted. "Better, now."

Don felt all of his anger drain away, replaced with concern. "Sick? Too sick to call? Buddy, you need to come home. I can come and get you, help you drive back. There must be someplace I can fly in there. Where are you now?"

The anger Don was giving up somehow found its way through the phone line, and started invading Charlie. How could a smidgen of the very comfort he had craved for days so quickly turn into suffocation? "I'm fine," he said, more harshly than he had intended. "I'm sorry I missed my call. Please tell Dad."

Don tried to hang onto him, tried to keep up with the mood changes. "Charlie, call him yourself. He needs to hear from you."

What Don had intended as guidance hit Charlie like a ton of guilt, and he almost sobbed. "I'm sorry," he said, desperately, "I'm sorry. Please. I'll get one of those prepaid cells, this afternoon. So you guys can call me if something happens, okay?"

Now he was back to panic, which worried Don, but at least his brother was willing to be contacted now. "Okay. You call when you have the number."

"I will." Charlie suddenly sneezed into the phone. "Sorry."

His voice was getting raspy, and Don wondered just how sick he had been and how much better he really was. "Sure I can't come and get you?"

There was silence, and then Charlie spoke in a firm voice, his mood turning to anger, again. "I have to go," he said, and abruptly disconnected.

Don found himself staring at the phone, wondering what he'd said wrong this time.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Charlie settled into a fitful nap, full of psychedelic images of Don flying, then descending upon Charlie from the sky, like some kind of human kite onto Charlie Brown. When he woke, he was hot and sweaty again, but he managed to get to the car and find a convenience store nearby, where he bought a prepaid cell, a box of saltine crackers and a bottle of 7-Up. Back in the room, he set up the phone and called his father.

His Dad caught the call in the middle of the fourth ring, just before the answering machine picked up. "Yes?" He sounded anxious. Charlie hoped that wasn't his fault — but he knew he hadn't helped, any.

"Hi, Dad."

"Son. Thank God." Charlie could imagine Alan sinking down onto a chair. "Are you all right? Donnie told me you've been ill."

Charlie sighed. It was his own fault. He shouldn't have asked Don to tell their father he had called. "I'm okay, Dad. It was only the flu."

Alan fretted. "The flu. I've seen you with the flu. I wish you were here, so I could…" He stopped himself. "Well. I just wish you were here."

Charlie heard his father's sadness, and just as he had absorbed Don's anger, he felt the sadness enter him. "You guys are both okay, right? I'm so sorry, Dad…I know I'm being selfish…"

This time it was Alan's turn to sigh. "Sometimes we have to be, son. Is it helping?"

"I don't know. Sometimes, I think so. Sometimes…not so much."

"Larry called the other day. He asked me to pass on his…greetings, and concern, next time you called. You're not in touch with him?"

"I sent him a postcard, from somewhere…"

"He mentioned that. He said that it was blank."

"Couldn't think of anything to say."

Alan changed the subject. "Don said you would be getting a cell phone."

"Right. I have it now. I have the number for you."

"I should call if there is an emergency."

Charlie hesitated. He knew his Dad wanted him to say that he could call him anytime, but he felt pressure rising within him at the very thought. He didn't want to hurt Alan anymore than he already had, either. He decided to neither confirm nor deny. "Here's the number," he said simply, providing it to his father.

Alan repeated it back to him, then decided to risk the question always on his mind. "Charlie, when do you think you can come home?"

Charlie was sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall by now. He was starting to regret the crackers he had eaten, and he was too tired to edit himself. "I'm afraid," he said quietly. "I'm still afraid."

Alan spoke gently. "Of what, son?"

"Everything," Charlie whispered.

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He moved to a less expensive motel off the beach in Florence, and after a few more days, felt ready to continue up the coast.

Thursday evening, near Lincoln City, he sat on the guardrail of a scenic viewpoint, watching the sun set into the ocean. He heard another vehicle slow and pull into the viewpoint, turn off its engine. Eventually, he heard a door open, and a woman's voice commanded good-naturedly, "Well, come on then." Next, he heard snuffling nearby, and Charlie turned his head slightly to see an ancient dog sniffing at one of the support posts of the guard rail, before deciding it was good enough to pee on.

He was turning back toward the ocean when the woman spoke again. "So. Taken any sledge hammers to the knee, lately?"

He tracked the dog's leash back to an arm, then a face — and saw the woman from the log, back in Bandon. Charlie found himself smiling as she settled herself further down on the guardrail, and the ancient dog, finished peeing, planted himself firmly between Charlie and his mistress. "You know, it's June, now," Charlie said. "Did you make it through May in one piece?"

"Give or take a hit-and-run on the beach, yeah."

Charlie reddened and looked at the dog, who hadn't stopped staring at him. When Charlie met the dog's eyes, it growled.

"Don't mind him." She spoke nonchalantly. "He hardly has any teeth left. He's just trying to intimidate you."

"It's working," Charlie answered, and she laughed. This time, it didn't make him want to run away.

"He's very protective of me. He was originally my husband's dog, and after he passed away, Munchkin appointed himself my guardian."

Charlie stopped looking at the dog and glanced at the woman, who was staring out at the ocean. "I'm sorry."

He saw the corners of her mouth curve in a half-smile. "Thank-you. He's been gone several years."

"You look so young," Charlie began, then stopped, embarrassed.

This time the smile was broader. "Thank-you again," she teased. "Jamie and I went to high school together, then off to the same college. We married as sophomores, and still managed to both graduate on time. But by then, he was already sick. I went on to get my Master's, though." She spoke a little wistfully, obviously remembering. "I defended my thesis successfully two weeks before Jamie died. He was so proud."

Charlie couldn't think of anything appropriate to say to that, but it didn't seem to matter to the woman. After a few seconds she continued her story. "Anyway. That was six years ago. What with falling apart for a while, and this last 'Year of the Plagues', it's taken me that long to finish my Ph.D. It was finally conferred in January," she finished proudly.

That Charlie could respond to. "Congratulations."

Her tone lightened. "Thank-you yet a third time! I'm finally going to work for a living, now." She laughed. "Or rather, work to pay off all those student loans. I negotiated for a few months and finally accepted a position. I'll have to relocate, but that will help it feel like a new start, I think. I decided to spend a few weeks on the Oregon Coast, first. Jamie and I worked out here at a state park the summer after we were married, and we loved it so much."

"It is beautiful," Charlie agreed, eyes drawn back to the setting sun. He thought about her story. "You're so…well-adjusted," he finally said lamely.

She chuckled. "Trust me — didn't happen overnight." She looked at his profile for a long moment, and must have seen something in the growing dusk that helped her make a decision. "Have you ever been afraid? I mean, really. Really afraid."

Charlie nodded slowly, apprehensive.

She looked back at the ocean. "Me, too. When Jamie got sick. Then what I was afraid of actually happened. When it was over, and I looked back, I saw something that hurt me more than the realization of my fear."

Charlie wasn't sure his whisper could be heard over the steady roar of the ocean, but he couldn't seem to speak any louder. "What?"

"All the time I wasted, being afraid. I could have made those last months better, for both of us, if I hadn't let fear take control." She waved an arm toward the waves and the dog perked up his ears, so attuned to her that he heard the whisper of her skin. "That's when I decided to see life like this ocean. It's tide is constant, and sometimes, things get taken out with it. Just as often, when it rushes back in, the tide brings us treasures and drops them at our feet. All we have to do is look for them." She looked at Charlie again and smiled. "Don't you see? The tide works both ways."

Charlie sat and thought of the last three months of his mother's life. He had known she was dying, and it had terrified him. He had retreated to a world where things didn't die. P vs. NP would live forever. He had let it take over his life, and he would never get those three months back.

He thought of the months he had wasted with Amita, before she was even offered the position at Harvard. He had let fear of the unknown variable slow his steps, and now that chance was gone forever, too.

He realized with a start that his father, though healthy now, would not live forever. Don's risk factor, even with his new position at the FBI, was off the charts. Larry was 15 years older than Charlie, and statistics said his friend would leave this earth before he did. All Charlie had, with each of them, was now. Now was time he could never reclaim, either.

The sky was full of pinks and reds, and the sun had become a burning orange sphere against the dark water. He stood, grabbing his cane. He would have approached her, but he didn't want to set off the dog. Instead, he simply looked and her and said, "I'm sorry to keep doing this to you. I have to go, now. Thank-you."

She reached out a hand to scratch the dog's head. "For what?"

Charlie shrugged. "Everything."

When he got back in the car, he started its motor and waited until a passing vehicle cleared the road. Then he made a u-turn, and headed for California.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

By the time he got back to Newport, Charlie had talked himself down enough to stop and spend the night. Considering the year he was coming off, pushing himself was probably not a good idea. While he was there, he studied a map in the motel room, and in the morning, he took Highway 20 to cut over to I-5. He wanted to get home faster than the coast highway would allow.

According to Charlie's calculations, three more hours on Friday, once he hit I-5, six on Saturday and seven on Sunday, and he could arrive by mid-afternoon. He was almost to Grants Pass, where he planned to stop for the day, before he realized he had been making calculations. Equations figuring the variables of estimated traffic flow, miles per hour and minutes spent at rest stops crowded his head. It felt at once like the return of an old friend — and being cornered in a dark alley.

As the days progressed, his equations become more precise, spilling out of his head and onto the margins of the map. He was nervous about going home after nearly six weeks, and the numbers, as they usually did, began to calm him.

Saturday night, in Sacramento, tired and sore, Charlie considered a new equation. Two four-hour days, and he could still be home by Monday. Taking I-5 back cut off hours of time, but quickly became monotonous and hypnotic, and he missed the scenery of the coast. He was so close now, though. He decided to push one last day. He reworked the original calculations, with increased out-of-the-car time, and set a new target of dinner.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Alan and Don stood side-by-side at the stove, peering with distrust and distaste at a saucepan.

"Maybe we did something wrong," Alan finally said.

"We followed the recipe exactly," Don argued. "Maybe after it cooks down and thickens, it will change colors. And look less…lethal."

Alan wasn't convinced. "Could you have written something down wrong?" He wrinkled his nose. "It doesn't smell very good."

"Cecile swears this is great. A childhood favorite."

"How long has it been since she made it? Perhaps she got something mixed up."

Don shifted him weight uncomfortably. "She…hasn't exactly made it. This is what she was able to figure out from her great-grandmother's recipe cards."

Alan sighed. "Something tells me the woman didn't have very good penmanship." He stirred the concoction and the unpleasant odor became more pungent.

"I love Cecile," stated Don flatly, "but I am not eating this."

"Eating it? I'm throwing the entire saucepan away. Hand me your phone. I'll order Chinese."

Don reached for the waistband of his jeans, but stopped suddenly. "I think I left it in the living room."

"It was on the kitchen table. Here, Dad."

Alan took the cell. "Thank-you, Charlie. Don, turn the stove off and…" Alan suddenly heard himself and blanched. He looked at the cell in his hand, then at Don, and finally turned to see Charlie standing a few feet behind him grinning.

Alan flew into him so hard that he propelled Charlie backwards several feet, until his hip connected hard with a kitchen counter. Cell phone and cane went flying, and only his brother's muffled "Umphf" spurred Don into action in time to cross to Charlie's side and help brace him against Alan's assault. He tried to pry his father's arms away from Charlie.

"Dad, please. You're hurting him." Don's words finally penetrated and Alan pulled away, still murmuring Charlie's name. He started to ask how Charlie was hurt when Don suddenly shoved him aside and took his place, embracing his brother hard and slapping him on the back. He was pleased when he felt Charlie hugging him in return, and held on a little longer than he would have, if that hadn't felt so good.

At last they stood as three separate individuals, facing each other and grinning like idiots. Alan, who hadn't touched Charlie in several seconds, reached out to take his arm. "Did I hurt you?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, Dad. But can we sit down?"

"Of course, of course!" Alan hurried to the refrigerator and pulled out the entire 6-pk. of beer, centering it on the table between them.

Don immediately passed one to Charlie and took one for himself. "Come on," he said. "Celebrate. It's a homecoming."

Charlie grinned back, twisted the top off the beer and took a small drink. He smiled happily at them both. "I hate beer."

Alan laughed. "Son, I'm so glad you're home." He immediately frowned. "You look tired. How sick were you?"

Charlie connected with Don's eyes for a moment. It hadn't taken their father long to switch into Jewish Mother. He looked back at Alan. "I'm good, Dad. I've just been driving a lot the last couple of days."

To his surprise, Don took Alan's side. "Dad's right. You've been sick, and it's not as if you were on some kind of deadline. Why the big hurry?"

Charlie sipped some more beer before he answered. "It was time to come home," he finally said. "I wanted to come home."

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An hour later, Don had helped Charlie unload the car, Alan had started a load of laundry, Charlie had called Larry, and the Chinese food had arrived. They sat at the kitchen table again.

Charlie tried to spear rice with chopsticks. He was concentrating on his task, not looking at Don when he asked about Cecile.

Don hesitated just long enough for Charlie to give up on the rice. He looked up at Don and frowned a little. "Is there a problem?"

Don exchanged a look with his father, which elevated Charlie's concern, but when Don looked back he was smiling in an embarrassed kind of way. "Charlie…Cecile and I are getting married."

The chopsticks clattered to the table and Charlie's mouth dropped open. Don waited for him to speak. Charlie's face began to cloud and Don got a little concerned. "I wanted to talk to you about it first," he explained. "Really, you know, get your opinion. But you never stayed on the phone long when you called, and it never seemed like a telephone conversation, anyway. And it was important to ask her on our anniversary, I think." His words were speeding up as he became increasingly nervous, and he forced himself to stop.

Charlie finally looked away from him, down at the table. He still hadn't said anything. Don couldn't stand it very long. "Charlie? You like Cecile, right?"

Charlie looked back up at him and shook his head a little, as if clearing cobwebs from his brain. "What?"

"I asked if you…like Cecile?"

Charlie smiled. "No. I love Cecile. I love Cecile with you. I love you with Cecile. I'm just…a little surprised." His smile dropped away. "I didn't realize things had progressed that far. I guess I've been too wrapped up in myself."

Don smiled tentatively. "So we're good?"

Charlie nodded, but still looked sad.

"What is it, son?" Alan spoke gently, and Charlie glanced at him, then off to the side, at nothing.

"It's just…this is another thing, for the list."

Don was confused. "The list?"

"Yeah. The list of things I let get away. Those last months with Mom. All that time with Amita. Sharing this with you. I should have been here. I'm sorry."

Don was worried that Charlie was going to go into a funk on him again, and he reached out to touch his arm. "Hey, it's okay. I mean, yeah, I would have liked some time with you…I needed someone to ground me there for a few days…but I know you're here now. We saved all the details, we haven't discussed dates, or anything. I want to talk to you about some stuff."

Charlie smiled a little. "Me? You're not marrying me."

Don laughed. "Thank God. But really, Buddy. It's important to me that you're part of this, that you're good with all this."

Charlie smiled so brilliantly that it nearly broke Don's heart. He lifted his beer in a salute. "Wow. You're getting married."

Don had missed that smile. He hadn't realized how much Charlie had become a part of his life, how much he had come to depend on him. Countless times over the last few weeks he had been forced to stop himself halfway into dialing Charlie's number, ready to suggest lunch or a movie. Then he would feel the loss all over, again.

Now, Don raised his bottle and clinked it to his brother's. They both drew on their beers. "See, that's one thing right there," noted Don when he lowered his. "You're going to have to work on your toasts."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Later, the Eppes men adjourned to the living room to wait for Cecile, who was joining them after work. Don forged the way. Alan veered to the laundry room to toss in another load, and Charlie stopped at the refrigerator for another bottle of water.

Don, sitting on the end of the couch, watched him come through the swinging door from the kitchen. He wasn't using his cane, but walked with a pronounced limp. "How's the knee?", Don asked with concern. "You didn't do anything stupid like climb Mt. McKinley while you were gone, right?"

Charlie grinned, and took the other end of the couch. "No. It's actually pretty good. I think during the summer I'll get back into physical therapy, and see how much I can build up my endurance."

Don nodded. "Good. That's good. It's just that you're limping more than I remember, from before…" He hesitated, then decided not to give Charlie any special treatment until he asked for some. "Before the fire."

Charlie looked toward the kitchen, and spoke lowly. "My hip is killing me. Dad ever play football?"

Don laughed. "That was some tackle, wasn't it? Almost as good as when I told him I was asking Cecile to marry me."

Charlie's smile faded, and again Don felt apprehensive. He waited for him to say something.

Charlie contemplated the water bottle for a moment, then leaned forward and put it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "I don't know what I was thinking," he finally said. "Or maybe I wasn't thinking at all. I just never thought about the fact that things would keep moving here, you know?"

Don was saved from an answer by their father's shout. "Charlie! Would you come back into the kitchen, please?"

As Charlie pushed himself off the couch, Don heard Cecile's car in the driveway. "Stay in the kitchen," he said mischievously. "Let's surprise her."

Charlie shook his head. "Didn't you tell me your last surprise resulted in her lying unconscious in a bucket full of golf balls?"

Don swatted at him as he passed, barely brushing his leg. "Yeah. But this will be your fault. Let's face it, Bro — that's one of the reasons I need you here at home."

Charlie tossed him a glare over his shoulder and continued on to the kitchen, where he managed to convince his father that the rocks in the pockets of his jeans were important: they were agates, for Larry, from a beach in Oregon.

They heard the front door slam and looked at each other silently.

"Don! Is that Charlie's car out there? Is Charlie home? Did Charlie come home?" The voice, shrill and excited, was getting closer. Alan and Charlie grinned at each other. "Where is he? You didn't call. Why didn't you call?" The swinging door opened and Cecile saw Charlie. This time, he had moved to lean against a counter to begin with, and he welcomed her enthusiastic embrace, winking at Don, who had followed her into the kitchen, over her shoulder.

When they parted, Charlie was a little taken aback to see that she was crying. "Hey, hey, sis," he said, lightly brushing a tear from her cheek. "There's no need for that." He smiled broadly at her. "Don told me. I can't believe you guys are getting married."

She blushed prettily, and held her left hand out proudly. "Isn't it gorgeous?"

Don saw Charlie pale and realized he'd left out an important piece of the story. It wasn't as if he'd done it on purpose. He just hadn't thought about Charlie recognizing the ring, when he saw it. As the oldest son, and the first to be married, his getting their mother's ring was an accepted custom. Alan had not hesitated when Don had asked.

But he could see, and understand, that Charlie was blindsided. He'd just barely had time to digest the news of their engagement, and had already admitted some regrets he had about not being there when it happened. Don could imagine what a surprise it was for Cecile to shove Mom's ring in his face like that, and he was infinitely, infinitely sorry he hadn't told him first.

He and Cecile spoke at the same time.

"Buddy, I should have warned you…"

"You should sit down. You must be exhausted, and you look a little pale." Cecile heard Don's words over hers and focused again on the ring. Charlie's mother's ring, not just Don's mother's ring. She dropped her hand quickly. "Is everything all right?"

Charlie's eyes had followed the ring, and with obvious effort he lifted them to the concerned ones of Cecile, Don and Alan. He concentrated on making his voice steady. "Yes, Cecile." His eyes roamed the room, never maintaining contact with anyone. "Don't worry so much, everybody. Jet lag. Or at least the automotive equivalent." He tried to change the subject. "What time is it?"

"Almost 10," answered Alan softly, watching Charlie closely.

Charlie shifted against the counter. "Well there you have it, then. It's really been a long…overwhelming day, for me." He tried to smile at Cecile. "I wanted to stay awake until you got here, to congratulate you, but I'm…suddenly exhausted."

Don had moved up to join Cecile, and she gripped his hand tightly and smiled tentatively back at Charlie. "Of course…I'm sure you are. Thank you for waiting up for me, though." She tried to make a joke. "Saved me a trip up the stairs to run screaming into your room."

The men all smiled. "Cece," Don said, "could you help Dad with the laundry?"

She took the hint, leaned in to kiss Charlie quickly on the cheek and scampered to the laundry room with Alan.

Don stared at Charlie, who really did look exhausted — a lot more tired than he had looked on the couch 10 minutes ago. "I should have told you," he started, but Charlie shook his head.

"No, I understand. I mean, it makes sense. Oldest, first to marry, all that. Besides, it's Dad's decision anyway."

"Still. I could have warned you before it was just there, in your face."

Charlie shuddered and closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again. "I'll admit, I was surprised."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Charlie shook his head, and gave Don a genuine smile. "No. I'll be all right. I just have to take some time and process everything." He saw that his brother wasn't convinced and still felt guilty. "Don," he said gently, "let's not do this, okay?"

"Do what?"

"Look for trouble. Work at finding things to drive a wedge between us. I didn't come back for that. I came back because I missed you. I came back because I realized how much time I was wasting, and I realized how much I love everyone here. Okay?"

Don felt a pressure burn behind his eyes and embraced Charlie again so that he wouldn't see it. "I love you too," he answered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry."

Charlie again returned the embrace and held on for a long moment, one hand on the back of Don's head. "Mom…Mom would be happy," he said quietly into Don's ear. "You should be happy. Don't let me tarnish that for you. I'll get used to seeing it, again."

Charlie straightened, and yawned widely behind one hand. He looked with droopy eyes at his brother. "Gonna have to ask you one more time. Please let me go."

Don grinned. "How about if I walk you up?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

At first he just leaned against the wall in the shower, hoping that the rushing water would wash it all away. When he realized he was crying, he slid down the wall and sat under the stream.

He believed everything he had said to Don. He did want to come home. Intellectually, he understood about the ring. Problem was, he doubted that there was enough Prozac in the world to soften the blow of seeing it like that, so unexpectedly. What if something horrible happened — horrible things had a way of happening around Charlie — what if it happened, and Don and Cecile broke up for some reason? Would she give the ring back, if they never got married? Or what if they got married, and later, divorced? Statistics on the longevity of any marriage weren't good. When one partner was involved in a career like law enforcement, the odds of a break-up increased. She surely would not give the ring back, then.

Charlie started to hiccup, and lowered his head to his chest. He forced himself to slow down, to think and not just feel.

It was only a ring.

Cecile's wearing it now did not negate the time his mother spent wearing it. If anything, it honored and recognized the love shared by his parents. It was actually very touching that Don would even think of asking for it, and that Cecile would so proudly wear the ring.

He believed what he said about it being Alan's decision, too. Even if Charlie had been here, Don didn't owe him any special consideration in this matter. The ache in his heart began to convert to warmth, when he realized that Don would have talked to him if he could have, anyway. Charlie believed him when he said that he didn't want to hurt him. Charlie believed him when Don said that he loved him.

The water running off his face was all from the shower, now, and Charlie felt a little jolt when he realized that he hadn't just come home because of the reasons he had given Don. Yes, it was time. Yes, he didn't want to throw any more time away. Yes, he missed them, and loved them. But that wasn't all of it.

He had come home because he finally understood how much they loved him.

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Charlie re-entered his life slowly. After a few days of rest, he called to make appointments with Dr. Aaron and his orthopedist. Dr. Aaron had a cancellation that afternoon, and after another call, Charlie went into L.A. early.

He appeared in the bullpen at the FBI with a case of soda, Don, who had waited for Charlie and the delivery driver in the lobby, and four pizzas. Charlie was especially glad to see Colby, Megan, David and Jim, but he had worked with several of the other agents as well, and everyone on site was encouraged to come by the break room and join them for a few minutes.

Charlie received Megan's hug, and handshakes from the men, and let himself feel the charged atmosphere of the FBI office again. It had been so long since he had helped on a case, he had almost forgotten the intensity of this place.

As if reading his mind, Colby sidled up to him. "Charlie." Colby was talking around a mouth full of pepperoni, and it sounded more like "Chaweee". After a few more chews and a swallow of Coke, Colby continued. "I have this case…"

Don, watching from his place at one of the tables in the break room, immediately interrupted. He stood quickly and joined them. "Colby, Charlie just got back. He's going to take it easy for the rest of the summer — Cecile held him down, and Dad made him promise. I was the witness."

Colby held up a hand in surrender. "Yeah, of course, I'm sorry. I was just going to ask if you were ready to start consulting, again. Now I know."

Charlie looked steadily at Don for a moment, and then Colby. "Don's not entirely accurate in this matter, Colby."

Colby looked from one Eppes to the other and hoped he hadn't started something. He was still hungry and wanted more pizza.

Charlie elaborated. "I'm afraid I can't help you on your current case, Colby. I need to settle into my own routine, and get back into things slowly. But you can put me back on your 'active duty' list for the next one, all right? Is that acceptable?" Charlie looked back at Don. "To everybody?"

Don and Colby looked at each other. Finally, Don shrugged. "Charlie's his own man," he said. "If he says he's ready, he's ready."

Colby broke into a huge smile, relieved that he would be working with Charlie again one day soon, and more relieved that the Assistant Director wasn't going to demote him from team leader. He peered around Charlie's shoulder at the table behind him. "Is there any more Hawaiian?"

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The next week, Don came by for a game on ESPN after work. He didn't pay for cable at the apartment — he just wasn't there enough; especially when he was a field agent and subject to being called out at any time. When he became A.D., he thought about getting it, but Cecile noted gently that as long as he couldn't watch something at his own place, he would be more likely to maintain frequent visits to Charlie's house, and that would mean more to Alan than a small amount of convenience might mean to Don.

He came through the empty kitchen and grabbed a beer, then pushed into the dining room, to find Charlie sitting at the table with his laptop. Don joined him. "Hey. Where's Dad?"

Charlie kept his eyes on the screen. A small smile played across his mouth. "Dinner with Art, then book club. I think he's finally convinced that he can let me out of his sight for a few hours and I'll be here when he gets back."

Don smiled. "He missed you," he said simply. "Give the guy a break. Are you working? Cognitive emergence?"

Charlie shook his head and turned the laptop around so Don could see the screen. "I was going to," he said, "but Dad borrowed my laptop for a few hours this afternoon. That reminds me. I need to see why the computer in the solarium isn't working. Anyway, I found this file on the desktop. 'Wedding', it says."

Don was looking with horror at the list of pre-marriage necessities Alan had enumerated. "This can't be for me and Cecile. I heard one of Prince Charles' sons may be getting married. Maybe he's planning for that."

Charlie laughed and turned the screen back around. "I'm telling you, Donnie, you have unleashed a powerful force. You need to seriously talk to Cecile."

"About what?"

Charlie grinned at him. "Vegas."

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Just before the 4th of July, which the Eppes were celebrating with a backyard barbecue that would include all the usual suspects, Charlie went to his morning physical therapy appointment and then decided that he might as well go by Cal Sci and pick up his schedule for the fall semester. The week before, he had met with Dr. Simpson, Division Chair, and Dr. Peterson, Vice President of Faculty Affairs. Both had been suspicious of his time away, and less than friendly.

Dr. Peterson laid it all on the line. "Of course we realize that you have been a valuable asset to Cal Sci, Dr. Eppes. You remain one of the most esteemed mathematicians in the field today, and it brings the university a certain amount of recognition to have you as a member of the faculty. For that reason, we have tried to accommodate your somewhat unique needs. There has been some talk, however, and we're concerned that your most recent absence included a few interviews with other schools."

Charlie almost laughed. He did smile. "I just had a nervous breakdown, that's all. Nothing to worry about. Happens all the time in the world of academia; at least amongst us genius-types."

The men, sufficiently chastised, had finally agreed to let him return full-time in the fall, but Charlie got the feeling that they weren't going to be throwing him any parties anytime soon.

He had come back this week because he wanted to get his schedule early, and spend the rest of the summer preparing. He wouldn't be a bit surprised if he had all upper division courses, night classes several times a week and a few new grad students to advise. His suspicions were confirmed in the administration building when a secretary handed him approximately seven pounds of paperwork and file folders, and Charlie headed down the steps of admin, studying the course assignment sheet on the top of the stack.

By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs he needed his cane, and realized that he had left it inside. He turned quickly to go back in, and a woman coming down after him, also looking down at a mass of paperwork, plowed into him full speed ahead.

Both sets of papers hit the ground, and Charlie staggered backwards a little, trying to catch his balance without re-injuring his knee. He was pretty sure Dr. Simpson would make him have any additional surgery in his office during his lunch hour.

The woman had followed the papers to the ground, and at first he was worried that she had fallen, but then he heard her talking and saw her scrambling through the papers. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking, that was so stupid…it's all mixed up…"

Charlie knew if he got on the ground to help her he'd never get back up, but he leaned over and picked up a folder, and tapped her on the shoulder with it. "Let's just pick it all up and find a table somewhere to sort it all out. Are you all right? You're not hurt?"

She looked up at him then, and Charlie nearly lost his balance again.

It was the woman. It was the woman from the log in Bandon, the guardrail near Lincoln City. He gaped at her, and she at him. She shrank away a little, smashing papers into her chest. "Are…Are you stalking me?" Her eyes were wide, wary. She was still backing up.

"What? I…no…what?" Charlie was clearly nonplussed, and didn't even think to help her as she stood.

She clutched the papers tightly. "Who are you?", she demanded.

Charlie ran a hand through his hair. "I…teach, here. I'm on the faculty. Eppes. Charlie Eppes."

Her eyes grew wider, and she took a step forward. "Dr. Charles Eppes? Applied Mathematics?"

Charlie nodded mutely.

"Oh, my…" she breathed, taking another step. "You're the reason I negotiated so hard for this job, the reason I accepted an Associate Professorship under Dr. Kincaid…"

Charlie's head cleared a little. "Dr. Tremont? Dr. Simpson told me that a Dr. Tremont will be working closely with Dr. Kincaid fall semester, with the intention of taking over for her when she retires next January."

She nodded. "Beth. Beth Tremont. I can't believe…I was just hoping I would get to meet you, at a division mixer or something. I just wanted to be around when your mind went off."

Charlie was confused. "What?"

She blushed. "It's just…I've envisioned it like the sun. You know how, when you're cold, you find the most direct sunlight you can, and point your face toward it, close your eyes…let it warm you? Like…Like you were doing on that log. In Bandon."

He nodded slowly.

"So I thought, the rings of energy displaced by that supernova in your head might splash a little. You've already accomplished so much in this field, and I wanted to be standing within splash distance the next time your mind went off. I wanted to see if it was as warm as I imagined."

Charlie was getting warm, but he didn't think it had anything to do with the supernova in his head. He tried to gather a few consecutive coherent thoughts. "Well…I…I can show you the math and sciences building," he finally offered. "We'll find a lecture hall and sort through all these papers."

She smiled at him and took another step. When she had drawn even, Charlie forgot all about his cane and started walking.

He heard the rustle of papers, then the smooth dessert that was her voice. "I've seen it from the outside, and I noticed the new addition. I was wondering, in the old part…"

Charlie looked over at her and waited.

She smiled again, a little lopsided grin. "Well, are there any lecture halls with actual blackboards, anymore? I prefer working with chalk. I just can't get enough of it, for some reason."

Charlie smiled, tilted his face a little to the sky, and felt the warmth of the sun.

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FINIS

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**A/N: No, I am not expecting a four-logy. I know stories remain open: will Don and Cecile elope? Will Charlie jump Beth? This is my odd little attempt to let things add on a happy note, with the possibilities of healing and love looming for all.**


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